


Kiss-Kiss

by who_la_hoop



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boys Kissing, M/M, five times fic, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:36:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/who_la_hoop/pseuds/who_la_hoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Draco,” Harry said, scandalised, “the <i>teddy bears are watching</i>.” (Or, five times Draco kissed Harry during 'eighth year', and the one time Harry kissed him first.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss-Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [birdsofshore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsofshore/gifts).



> A bit of silliness, dedicated to birdsofshore, on the occasion of her birthday.

[one]

Draco Malfoy looked at the Filet-o-Fish. The Filet-o-Fish looked back.

There was a tense silence as man and fish were locked in contemplation.

“It’s plastic,” Malfoy said finally, in utmost disdain. “You have brought me to Muggle London in order to eat _plastic_.”

Harry snorted and took a big bite of his cheeseburger. “Yum,” he said unconvincingly, hoping that none of it had gone down his chin.

Malfoy fixed him with a withering stare and then turned his attention back to the burger in front of him. He poked it with one long, bony finger. “Or it could be rubber, I suppose,” he said speculatively. When he prodded the bun, it depressed for a moment, and then sprang up again as if it had never been touched.

“Itsf _fud_ ,” Ron said through a mouthful, his tone of disdain almost matching Malfoy’s. He’d nearly finished his first Big Mac and was already reaching for his second.

Harry tried not to look; Ron had a habit of eating with his mouth open, and it was a bit like watching a rubbish truck in action: revolting and yet strangely mesmerising. He’d learned, over the years, to focus on something else while Ron enjoyed his food: Ron’s right eyebrow, say, or the top of his head.

Draco, who’d had no such battle training, tore his gaze away from the burger to stare, in open fascination, at Ron. “Like something from a zoo,” he murmured. And then, when Ron opened his mouth more widely to refute the allegation, he shuddered delicately and added: “Pardon?”

Ron swallowed. “I said it’s _food_. You too stuck-up to eat food that’s not been brought to you on a silver tray by a cowering house-elf, Malfoy?”

Malfoy pursed his lips and . . . didn’t say anything.

Harry sagged with relief and caught Hermione’s gaze.

“It’s not the _most_ delicious food,” Hermione said doubtfully. It was clear she wanted to support Ron, whilst bolstering public relations, but her heart wasn’t in it. “But it’s edible,” she said, rallying a little. “Perfectly edible.”

“Go on then, Granger,” Malfoy said, looking across the table at her. There was a glitter in his eye that wasn’t entirely friendly.

Hermione rolled her eyes and took a cautious bite of her Cheeseburger. “Mmmm,” she said, with rather too much of a question in her voice.

Draco snorted and turned his attention back to the food on the tray in front of him. He’d already tried the diet coke and pronounced it poison, and after attempting a French fry he’d pulled a face and muttered that even _poison_ was better than having a mouth full of salt and had had another slurp. 

So far, Harry thought, their Muggle Studies homework wasn’t going as well as could be expected. Not that he’d ever thought that spending time outside of Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy _could_ go well. Just because they’d formed an uneasy truce over the past six months didn’t mean they were friends. They weren’t . . . _not_ friends, though. Malfoy had apologised to him a while back in the most arsey way possible, with his nose in the air and his hands clenched into fists, but Harry had thought it had been sincere. If he’d been nice, Harry would have suspected something. But Malfoy wouldn’t know what ‘nice’ was if it bit him on the arse.

“Could we not have gone somewhere . . .” Malfoy trailed off, wrinkling his nose and waving his hand in a manner that clearly said: _anywhere but here, you disgusting tosspots._  


Harry repressed the urge to dig Malfoy in the side with his elbow. Just. 

“The assignment was to eat lunch in a typical Muggle restaurant,” Hermione said on a sigh.

“So eat your lunch, will you?” Ron said. “Don’t be a dick.”

Harry didn’t want to see Malfoy’s expression, so he didn’t look. But he couldn’t help but turn when Ron broke into mocking laughter.

“Urrrrgh,” Malfoy said, and pulled a face as if he’d been hit with a Cruciatus. Sauce had spilled out from the burger, smearing his fingers, the front of his crisp shirt and his chin. He looked round desperately for a napkin – and napkin there was none.

“Just use your shirt sleeve,” Ron said remorselessly, and sniggered.

It was probably that, Harry thought, looking back, that had done it. There was nothing on Merlin’s green earth that was more infuriating than the snigger of Ronald Weasley. To Malfoy, it was like a middle finger to a hippogriff.

He looked across the table at Ron with the light of vengeance in his eye – but it was too far to leap. So he turned – vengeance-light still blinding – towards Harry.

“It’s not my fault—” Harry started, but there was no reasoning with a madman.

Malfoy lunged for him, mayonnaise-covered fingers outstretched like some sort of well-seasoned zombie.

“Arghhh!” Harry said – rather reasonably, he thought – and flailed, trying to bat Malfoy away, but he was inexorable, tangling his dirty fingers in Harry’s T-shirt and winding him in.

Harry realised, with dismay, that if he wasn’t careful, Malfoy would be whipping up his T-shirt to use as a chin wipe, and he wasn’t having that! He had his dignity to maintain, after all. So they tussled for a while, Ron cheering and Hermione presumably dying of quiet embarrassment beside him, until Malfoy, evidently growing tired of these shenanigans, leaned in and _rubbed his face against Harry’s cheek._  


“Yurghhh!” Harry said, and moved his head – in the wrong bloody direction.

There was a frozen moment when Malfoy’s lips pressed – hard – against his. And for some unknown reason, Harry decided to lick his lips. Malfoy tasted of mayonnaise, and . . . and he wasn’t struggling, also for some unknown reason, and . . .

“STOP SNOGGING MALFOY!” Ron exploded, and Harry and Malfoy pulled apart as if they’d been hit with an Expelliarmus.

Ron put down the final third of his second burger. “Merlin, I think I’ve lost my appetite,” he said mournfully, staring down at it.

Harry decided he wouldn’t look at Malfoy again for _the rest of forever_. Sod the fact they’d been forced to pair up in Muggle Studies all year so he didn’t have much of an option. Maybe, he considered, he’d just wear a blindfold. Or, better yet, hide under his bed.

As lunches went, he thought it safe to say he’d had better.                                                                                        

 

 

[two]

“Unlike wizards, Muggles have some strange superstitions about healthcare,” Professor White said.

By Harry’s side, Malfoy stifled a yawn. Harry didn’t look at him, of course – he’d sworn an oath to himself, and no matter how irritating the dickhead was, he wasn’t going to look. Not even when . . . was that a _cock and balls_ Malfoy was doodling on his note scroll? Malfoy whispered something to it, and Harry – peeking at the side of Malfoy’s face through his eyelashes – could see his lips curve in amusement as the drawing became . . . animated.

“Mr Potter!” Professor White said sternly. “What was I just saying?”

“Oh, er,” Harry said, trying not to flush. At a second glance at Draco’s scroll, he could see that the bastard had Vanished the drawing.

“I was _saying_ ,” the professor said wearily, “that Muggles, lacking the precision of magical spellwork, sometimes resort to vague wishes to heal themselves. Such as . . . Anyone? Yes, Miss Granger?”

“Such as “kiss it better”,” Hermione said, from her desk at the front of the class next to Pansy Parkinson, who emitted an audible snort.

“Kiss it better?” Malfoy said scornfully. He twirled his quill in his fingers, then slid the feather through finger and thumb in an eye-catching manner. At least – it caught Harry’s eye. Though why it did, he couldn’t quite say. He began to feel ever so slightly warm.

“Yes, Mr Malfoy. Muggles believe that kissing a small wound, for example, provides relief and healing powers.”

“Well, it’s not quite like that—” Hermione began, but Malfoy wasn’t listening.

Malfoy turned to Harry with a speculative look in his eye.

“I’m not wounded, Malfoy,” he said, and then felt his cheeks start to burn. The harder he tried not to blush, the hotter he felt.

“You certainly _look_ a bit peaky,” Malfoy said, with a smirk. He was still twirling his quill, but his left knee was trembling and his foot tapping out a rhythm on the floor.

“I do not!” Harry said, in a flap, leaning back so far on his stool that he nearly overbalanced.

Malfoy’s arm shot out to steady him. And then Malfoy – the big, annoying wanker – yanked him forward, shoved his hair off his forehead and . . .

_Shluuuuuuuuurp._

“Arghhhhh!” Harry said as Malfoy performed a sort of hoover cum washing machine manoeuvre on the scar on his forehead. It wasn’t so much a kiss as an exorcism.

Malfoy shot back, his cheeks pink and his smile like the crup that had got the cream. “No demonstrable benefit at all,” he said, after scrutinising Harry’s face in a way that seemed, to Harry, to be intense and intensely unnecessary. Malfoy turned to the gobsmacked professor. “I hope I get extra points for effort?” he inquired politely.

“Ten points from Slytherin,” the professor said after a slightly frozen silence. “We don’t kiss people without permission, Mr Malfoy.”

Malfoy’s eyebrow quirked. “Not even for the good of their health?” he asked.

The professor’s lips quivered, as if she was dying to laugh and only holding back with supreme effort. “Well, Mr Malfoy, funny you should say that. Let me tell you about the Muggle lifesaving technique they call the kiss of life . . .”

  
_No! Don’t! Who knows what Malfoy will do with that foul knowledge!_ Harry wanted to say. But, for some strange reason, he didn’t. Just slouched into his seat and wondered exactly how – and when – Malfoy would strike next. And tried not to wonder why the idea didn’t cause him more alarm.

 

[three]

One moment Dean was showing Malfoy exactly how to kick the football, and the next . . .

. . . Harry woke up with a mouth full of Malfoy.

“Wha— Mmmmmf!” he said against Malfoy’s lips. Which was, he realised a fraction of a second too late, practically the same as kissing him back.

Malfoy appeared momentarily surprised that Harry was no longer a corpse, and then put his tongue in Harry’s mouth – presumably just for larks. When Professor White had described mouth to mouth, Harry thought, his brain feeling rather dizzy, it hadn’t sounded quite so . . . Mmm. _Ohhh_. 

Malfoy pulled away slightly, panting, and it was the work of a moment for Harry to reach up and yank him back, by the hair.

This, it appeared, was a mistake.

“Ow, let go, you fucker!” Malfoy said, and jerked out of Harry’s grasp. “Is that the thanks I get for saving your life? Premature balding?”

Harry considered this. “It was you who nearly _ended_ it,” he said, recalling the football to the head. Now he came to think of it, it had seemed very _aimed_ , that football. Almost as if Malfoy had meant it to brain him. 

Malfoy’s expression twitched. “This isn’t over, Potter,” he said, and he . . .

Had he really smirked in such a suggestive way? Harry thought dizzily. But it was too late to double-check, as by now the news that he was alive had spread and his friends were already gathering by his almost-grave to congratulate him on not being slaughtered by a football. It would have been an ignominious way to go, Harry thought, and he tried very much not to dwell on the notion that if Malfoy had only gone and snogged him to death then it was quite possible he would have died happy.

 

[four]

Hogsmeade was packed. It was usually packed, but that day it seemed more than especially packed.

Harry tried not to be paranoid, and failed.

Malfoy had asked him to meet him outside Madam Puddifoot’s, and if that wasn’t suspicious, Harry didn’t know what was. But, for some unknown reason, instead of telling him to fuck off, Harry had looked at Malfoy’s snide, pointy, gitty face and . . . heard himself saying, “Yeah, OK,” and nodding like a fool.

An Imperius curse, that’s what it was, Harry decided. And shifted from foot to foot, wondering if Malfoy was ever going to show up, and whether or not he actually wanted him to.

When he _did_ show up, Harry turned and . . . stared. Malfoy was dressed in pale, flowing, silk robes, his hair loose and soft around his face. But it wasn’t THAT that alarmed him. Although that did, just a little bit. It was the . . . slow-motion running.

“Darling!” Malfoy called, and Harry turned to look behind him to see who Malfoy was calling to. No one was there. And . . . was that _theme music_ playing as Malfoy ran? The swell of the violins increased as Malfoy ran up to Harry, swept his arms around him, and . . . 

Well. Harry had never been snogged like _that_ before. Everything else was a pale imitation. Malfoy was warm and simultaneously soft and hard against him. He smelt like summer, and Harry could feel Malfoy’s heartbeat hammering through his chest as he pressed against him.

“Er . . .” Harry said, when Malfoy pulled back, a shy yet adoring expression carefully arranged on his face.

. . . carefully arranged?

It was only then that Harry noticed the flash of cameras and the twinkle of quills taking rapid-quick notes.

“You always _were_ a media whore, Potter,” Malfoy said sweetly, his lips barely moving. “Let’s see what they make of this.” And he leaned back in towards Harry’s mouth for another go.

If the back of Malfoy’s head hadn’t been shielding him from the cameras, Harry would have pushed him away in order to apply the beatings. As it was . . . “You won’t get away with this, Malfoy,” he mumbled against Malfoy’s hot, soft lips.

But Malfoy only smiled – and much to Harry’s dismay, the movement did something peculiar to his insides that meant he was quite incapable of speech, or of fending Malfoy off, for at least another ten minutes.

 

  
[five]

“I can’t _believe_ we have to go on a teddy bears picnic,” Harry complained, for the hundredth time, trailing after Malfoy, who was zipping ahead through the trees with the deft ease of someone _not weighed down with hundreds of bags_.

Malfoy looked back and rolled his eyes. “Stop dawdling, Potter, we’re nearly at the perfect spot.”

Harry wordlessly extracted a tree branch from his eye and heaved the bags into a more comfortable grip.

Professor White, with all the joy of _someone who didn’t have to do it_ , had declared that this week’s homework would be to enjoy a Muggle childhood game. And, from a list that included everything from sports to crafts to musical instruments, Malfoy had – unilaterally – decided that he and Harry would be . . .

Hah! “Are these bags all _full of teddy bears_?” Harry said, standing stock still and wondering if anyone would care if he ritually disembowelled Malfoy and buried him in a shallow grave. The teddy bears could join him; he wasn’t an unreasonable man.

“One or two,” Malfoy flung airily over his shoulder, not stopping, so Harry had to dash after him, bags bashing against his legs as he ran.

It was _ridiculous_ that they weren’t allowed to use their wands while carrying out their homework assignments, and Harry vowed to have a strong word with . . . with himself, later, for allowing himself to fall prey to another of Malfoy’s no-doubt evil schemes.

“Here will do nicely,” Malfoy said, putting his hands on his hips and looking around with pleasure on his face.

He had a nice face, Harry thought, when he wasn’t being a git.

“Unpack the bags, Potter,” Malfoy ordered, nose in the air.

He didn’t have a nice face all, Harry mentally revised, wondering why he was allowing himself to be bossed about like this. And he wistfully thought again about murdering Malfoy. No one would know. They were, after all, in the middle of a forest. It was nice – with tangles of trees, and sunlight dappling through the canopy. And it was deserted. No one to hear the screams.

Harry rolled his eyes at himself and got on with the job.

Some time later, Malfoy nodded his approval and sat down. Harry tried not to laugh. Malfoy was sitting on one side of the enormous picnic mat, in the middle was the picnic basket full of lunch things, and on the other side . . . a semi-circle of teddy bears. Most looked new, but one looked scruffy and was obviously well loved. No prizes, Harry thought with amusement, for guessing which one was Malfoy’s childhood toy.

Harry sat down beside Malfoy, and they sat there in silence for a while.

“Well, this is fun,” Malfoy said eventually, giving Harry a curious side-long glance.

He probably _should_ murder Malfoy, Harry thought. It was for the benefit of society. And certainly for his own benefit, given that Ron had thought the whole ‘now the whole wizarding world thinks Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are a couple thing’ was deeply, deeply hilarious, and wherever Harry went, Ron followed, ‘helpfully’ brandishing a photo of him being snogged by Slow-Mo Malfoy, in case he forgot about it.

  
_Well, I needed some help to restore my reputation, Potter_ , Malfoy had said – unrepentant – when Harry had finally regained the power of speech and asked him what the hell did he think he was playing at. _It’s so touching that the power of my love for you has made me a reformed character . . . don’t you think?_  


Yes, Harry decided. Murder. Although . . . murder was too good for him.

“Lost the power of speech, eh, Potter?” Malfoy said, still looking at him in that alarmingly thoughtful way.

Harry opened his mouth to speak and then – “What the fuck!”

Malfoy’s gaze followed Harry’s pointing finger. “What?” he said, frowning.

The bears were moving – and not just in the faint breeze. Malfoy’s scruffy bear reached up with a paw to scratch its head, and several of the others were now lying down. If Harry focused, he could swear he could hear a faint, rumbling snore or two on the air.

“This is meant to be a MUGGLE THING,” Harry said. “All this is pointless otherwise!”

Malfoy smirked – and Harry didn’t like that much. “Keep your hair on,” Malfoy said, “I’m sure we’ll think of something else Muggle to do.”  
Harry shut his eyes and was counting to ten in his head, but he only got to four before Malfoy said: “Look!”

Harry opened his eyes to see Malfoy waving a cucumber about.

A deep, terrible dread came over him. He moistened his lips. “Cucumber sandwiches?” he said. It wouldn’t be cucumber sandwiches. No one went to the middle of a deserted wood to make cucumber sandwiches. It was probably a _dark arts_ cucumber of some sort. Or was Malfoy planning on murdering _him_ with it? A cucumber through the heart, sort of thing?

Malfoy turned towards him with a speculative glint in his eye. “Hold my cucumber,” he said.

“I . . . beg your pardon?” Harry said faintly, but the cucumber was thrust into his hand, entirely without his permission.

“You know the girls had that Muggle Studies lesson without us, a few weeks ago?” Malfoy said, rummaging in the pocket of his robe.  
Harry stared at Malfoy blankly.

The pointy horror withdrew a small box from his pocket with a triumphant, “A-ha!”

Harry stared at the box. Then he stared at the cucumber. Finally, although he _really, really didn’t want to_ , he stared – his eyes drawn there inexorably – at Malfoy.

Who was – the absolute git – slightly pink around the cheeks but otherwise entirely unruffled.

“I don’t see why _they_ got to have the joys of Muggle sex education, and shoving condoms on cucumbers, while we languished playing football,” Malfoy said, as if this was an entirely reasonable thing to say.

Harry opened his mouth to say – what, exactly? He shut it again. Condoms? Cucumbers? The words came out, but they made no sense.

Malfoy made a noise that was somewhere between a snort and a snigger. “Granger told me _all_ about,” he said smugly.

“No, she didn’t,” Harry protested.

“Oh, all right,” Malfoy said, waving that away as if it were nothing. “If you want to be literal, Pansy told me all about it.” He eyed Harry with great hilarity. “She was partnering Granger, you know.”

Harry glared at Malfoy. And then at the cucumber. And then at the box in Malfoy’s hands – which _he was now opening_.

There was _no way in hell_ that Harry was going to sit in a wood, holding a cucumber, while Draco Malfoy fiddled about with a box of Durex condoms. He had his dignity to consider, and he would never be able to look Ron in the eye again if it ever became known that he and Malfoy had bonded over condom-ing up a cucumber.

Harry was a Gryffindor, and hence a man of action. It was the work of a moment to leap upon his Slytherin nemesis, tossing aside the cucumber in disdain, and attempt to wrestle the box from his hands.

Malfoy – with the light of battle in his eyes – wrestled back, and then – an inspired tactic – leaned back, so Harry fell full on top of him, with a cry of . . . of horror, that’s what it was, Harry thought as he felt Malfoy’s warm, solid weight beneath him.

Malfoy was wiggling, the bastard, and his breath was coming hard and fast. He wasn’t giving up the box though, and so Harry was forced to wiggle too, supporting his entire body weight on his knees and one elbow while he scrabbled at Malfoy’s hands, trapped between them.  
Malfoy put up a spirited fight, but finally Harry managed to wrench the packet from his hands, with a cry of triumph. The action didn’t help his stability though, and he fell flat on top of Malfoy, who let out an aggrieved ‘ooooof’. 

He lay there for a moment, enjoying the notion that he was squishing Malfoy half to death, before he realised something slightly dreadful and awful.

Malfoy shifted under him, just a little, and the ‘slightly’ became more pronounced.

Harry attempted to spring off Malfoy, but Malfoy hooked a leg around him and emitted a snigger. “Why, Potter!” he said, after a frozen moment in which Harry wondered if he could Apparate without taking Malfoy with him. “I don’t think we’ll be needing the cucumber after all for our practical demonstration,” he said with utmost glee. “Not when your cock is so willing to take part.”

“W-w-w-what?” Harry said.

Malfoy made a speculative movement with his hips, and Harry’s head thunked down on to the picnic mat, blond hair going up his nose.  
Malfoy sniggered – again – and shoved at Harry, pushing him off and on to his back. Then he sat up and looked – very pointedly – at Harry’s crotch.

“ _Malfoy_ ,” Harry said desperately, and – to his dismay – Malfoy didn’t avert his eyes, as intended, but shifted a little closer and . . .

. . . and _snatched the fucking condom packet out of Harry’s hand again_.

Harry wet his lips. “I really don’t think . . .” he said, struggling to sit up.

Malfoy gave him a look that left him entirely lost for words. It was sly. And gitty. And speculative. And . . . hot. Hot like _burning_. 

“Er,” Harry said eloquently.

“Quite,” Malfoy said. He ripped open the box and pulled out a condom and a sheet of instructions. Then he looked, very pointedly, at Harry’s crotch. “Well, come on, then,” he said, when Harry failed to spring to action. Harry thought he’d already sprung to action quite enough for one day – more, to be honest, than he’d expected to in front of Malfoy, of all people.

He tried to forget how soft Malfoy’s lips had been, on those times that Malfoy had – quite without any romantic or sexual intention, Harry was sure – snogged him silly.

“Get it out. We don’t have all day,” Malfoy continued inexorably. “Unless you want me to . . .?” He leaned slightly closer, an evil look in his eye.

“Uh, no! It’s OK!”  Harry squeaked, and then coughed to clear his throat. He fumbled with the fly of his trousers and, awkwardly, shuffled them over his arse and halfway down his thighs, his erect cock springing free.

“You’re not wearing any underpants,” Malfoy said thickly, his eyes burning.

“Um, no,” Harry said, sweating slightly. It was a bit odd having your cock out in public, even if the public was a semi-circle of teddy bears and a tangle of trees. Oh, and Malfoy. There was no way he could forget Malfoy, of all people.

Malfoy had gone faintly purple, but he smirked and looked back at the instructions in his hands. “It says you need to be fully hard,” he said in a business-like manner.

Harry and Malfoy both examined Harry’s cock. It stuck, stiffly, out from a thatch of dark hair, swollen and reddened.

“Is it hard _enough_ , though,” Malfoy said speculatively.

They both looked at it a bit longer. Harry could feel his pulse vibrating through him, every drop of blood in his body rushing to his crotch. He swallowed, and his cock twitched, expelling a drop of liquid.

Malfoy’s lips parted, and then he pressed them together, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Seems . . . adequate,” he said, and smirked, before ripping open the foil on the condom and extracting the contents.

He examined the instructions again and then turned to Harry. “Seems simple enough,” he said. “If a _Muggle_ can do it, then there’s no reason why a Malfoy can’t.”

“You’re really going to—” Harry started, still not entirely believing that this was happening, and then ended in: “Ngggggggh!” as Malfoy launched himself at his crotch, taking him in hand and unrolling the condom down his dick with practised ease.

_Practised ease?_

“Well, that was an anti-climax,” Malfoy said, sitting back and folding his arms. 

Harry thought that sitting in a wood with a condom on his cock, while Malfoy stared at him, was so far from an anti-climax it was almost a . . . a . . .

The word ‘climax’ echoed in his mind, and he swallowed hard.

“I suppose we don’t know how well it stays on, during use,” Malfoy said after a frozen moment. He was looking at his fingernails. “Do we?” he said, looking up and into Harry’s eyes.

He was wearing a look on his face that Harry classified as ‘absolute pure evil’. 

“I . . .” Harry said, and shuddered, feeling his cock spurt with more precome.

“It would seem a shame to . . .” Malfoy waved his hand.

“Leave the experiment unfinished?” Harry said faintly. He fucking _wasn’t_ going to leave the experiment unfinished. If Draco wasn’t going to touch him, he’d just have to go and wank behind a tree, or something.

Draco leaned over and . . . extended his right index finger. He prodded Harry’s cock, watching it spring back up with delight.  
Harry cleared his throat, shut his eyes, opened them, and . . . “Draco,” he said, scandalised, “the _teddy bears are watching_.”

Malfoy snorted. “Let them look!” he said grandly, and wrapped his fingers right around Harry’s cock, forcing a shocked exhalation from Harry’s lips.

“What does it feel like?” Malfoy asked conversationally as he started to work his fist up and down. He wrinkled his nose. “The condom’s a bit greasy,” he added. “I hope you brought some hand wipes.”

“I – uh—” Harry said, feeling like he was about to explode. Malfoy’s grip was firm, and the condom was slick, and whenever Malfoy’s fist reached the top of his cock he did something with his _thumb_ and—

“Well?” Malfoy said impatiently.

Harry could feel his forehead sweating. His balls ached, and he could feel pressure building, and building, in his crotch. “Uh – feels good,” he said, trying desperately to think of unpleasant things so he didn’t embarrass himself. It would have been hotter with Malfoy’s skin against his, rather than through the slick latex, but he was almost thankful for that. He’d have come off in under thirty seconds if the condom wasn’t in the way.

“Good?” Malfoy said. And then he stopped. He stopped! The bastard _stopped_!

“I wonder what it tastes like . . .” he said speculatively.

_Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh—_ “Fucking hell!” Harry hissed as Malfoy dropped his head to Harry’s lap and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the head of his cock.

“Hm,” Malfoy said incoherently, sliding his lips over Harry’s cock and taking a firm suck. His tongue swirled, and he bobbed his head up and down, wrapping the fingers of one hand around the base of Harry’s cock to keep the condom in place.

Harry tried not to thrust into Malfoy’s mouth, and failed.

Malfoy made a slightly choked noise, but didn’t move away, allowing Harry to fuck his mouth helplessly.

Before he could come though – although his orgasm was waving happily at him on the horizon – Malfoy pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His chin, and his mouth, were still pretty wet.

Harry shut his eyes and tried not to die on the spot.

Malfoy snorted, and wrapped his hand back around Harry’s cock, pumping hard.  “You could do me the decency of actually _looking_ at me, Potter, while I carry out the experiment.”

Harry’s body decided that it could spare a little bit of blood to send to his cheeks, but he wasn’t a coward, so he looked Malfoy dead in the eye.

Malfoy’s face was a deep pink, and his eyes were wide. He managed a slightly supercilious smirk – nothing up to his usual brilliance – and then let out a shaky breath. His hand sped up though, and Harry tried not to let his eyes roll back in his head.

“Potter,” Malfoy said.

“Unnnnnh,” Harry said. “I’m going to – I’m going to—”

Malfoy licked his lips, very wetly, and Harry came like the Hogwarts Express.

“Well, I can see that it’s a rather _tidy_ way of doing things,” Malfoy said, over the sound of Harry’s panting, giving Harry’s cock a few more slow strokes and then wiping his hand on Harry’s trousers. “If you’re a Muggle, that is.”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry said, his heart still beating like a gong. He glanced at Malfoy’s crotch, but the bugger was wearing voluminous robes.

“Tissue?” Malfoy said airily, and passed a box to Harry, before turning to . . . _start unpacking the picnic basket_.  


Harry felt his jaw drop.

After a few moments, Malfoy said, “Well, are you just going to _sit_ there with your cock out, Potter, or are you planning on pouring the tea?”

Harry shut his jaw, and tidied himself up in bemused silence. When he looked back at Malfoy, the git was immaculately tidy and waiting to hand him a teacup.

When Harry thought about it, a few minutes later, it did seem pretty likely the whole business had been a hallucination brought on by hallucination-y causing type things . . . 

. . . but when he looked over at the teddies, Malfoy’s childhood bear had its paws very firmly over its eyes.

 

  
[six]

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Harry said firmly. He didn’t feel firm – a bit wobbly, if truth be told – but Malfoy had been pissing about for the past few days, and Harry thought if he didn’t say it he’d snap.

Malfoy raised one pale, blond eyebrow. “Are you?”

“Um, yes?” Harry said. But didn’t. It seemed a bit . . . forward, now he came to think of it. And Malfoy was so . . . so . . . _Malfoy_ , all pointy edges and a mouth that was more designed for sneering than for kissing, or for . . .

Harry’s own mouth went dry as he remembered – vividly – exactly what Malfoy’s mouth had been up to just a couple of days ago in the depths of the wood. Maybe the kissing wasn’t such a stretch after all. He raised his chin. “Yes! I am,” he amended, and stepped closer to Malfoy.

Malfoy took a step back – and this placed him firmly against the wall of the corridor.

Other students walked past them, looking over at them curiously.

Malfoy did look rather nice against the wall, Harry thought, willing his legs to step closer. All sort of – pushable. So he stepped even closer and _pushed_. There wasn’t anywhere for Malfoy to go, of course, but he let out a pleased sort of noise that communicated itself directly to Harry’s cock.

Harry moistened his lips, closed his eyes and went for it, ignoring the catcalls of the other passing students.

Draco was warm and pliant beneath him, and he hummed with pleasure as they kissed, his arms coming up to wrap around Harry’s waist.

After a delicious while, Harry pulled back – very slightly. Malfoy wore a very, very smug expression.

“What?” Harry said.

Malfoy smirked. “You really want me, don’t you?” he said.

Harry choked a little. “Um, yes?” he said, thinking he might as well admit it.

Malfoy’s smirk widened into something that was almost a genuine smile of pleasure. “I was beginning to think I’d have to start _hinting_ that I liked you,” he said. “I’m glad you got there on your own.”

Hang on – what? “Hinting?” Harry repeated.

“Yes, hinting,” Malfoy repeated firmly. “I’m glad I didn’t have to, because no Malfoy would ever need to _chase_ someone he found attractive. Malfoys are always, _always_ the ones who are chased. We are, in fact,” he said, stroking the small of Harry’s back in a spine-melting manner, “ _extremely_ hard to get.”

Harry considered this. He considered the number of times Malfoy had ‘accidentally’ snogged him. He considered the fact that the wizarding media already thought they were dating. He considered the fact that Malfoy had already molested him in a deep, dark wood. And he grinned. “Seriously, Malfoy, I had absolutely no idea that you might like me that way,” he lied.

Malfoy went a bit pink, but his eyes twinkled. “None at all?”

“None at all,” Harry repeated. He cleared his throat.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Malfoy replied. And looked at Harry expectantly.

“Oh,” Harry said, “um.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “You could force me to have dinner with you,” he said. “Although, please note that eating in a Muggle shit-hole has never, _ever_ resulted in a Malfoy putting out.”

“Um, would you like to have dinner with me this Saturday in Hogsmeade?” Harry said.

Malfoy appeared to consider this. “I may have a gap in my schedule,” he said. “Though perhaps you’ll need to persuade me.” He tilted his chin back and his eyes fluttered shut.

Harry grinned, and did just that.


End file.
